Testers
by 7Earthborn
Summary: Sci-fi AU.  Testers are volunteers. They give themselves up to science with hopes of finding somewhere they can be stronger, something more than just human. And everything is better for them until they're pushed too far. Kurt was pushed too far.
1. Chapter I : An Absence of Light

**A/N:** If it wasn't obvious already, this fanfic? AU. Really, really, _reeeeeally_ AU. Secondly, this is sci-fi. It's set a little over 50 years in the future and contains fantastical elements like superhuman abilities. So, AU? Check. Sci-fi? Check. Action? Check. I hope I still have your attention. Also, I'm not going to go into much detail on the plot and what I have planned out, since all of that will be revealed during the story. This story's going to be rated **M** for **violence, action,** and the eventual **smut**. In essence, while it _is_more action-oriented than most of the stuff in the Glee fandom, it's still a romance.

These characters, as always, aren't mine. (Well, not all of them. Some of them are.) They belong to Fox and the fiends that inhabit their writer's pit.

And, last but not least, enjoy! Extra special thanks to my beta, Wally, for being amazing and encouraging. I'm taking a huge leap of faith by posting this and am hoping that it'll be well-received!

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><p>Lying on the ground surrounded by the garbled sound of traffic and arms he couldn't see was the very last place Kurt Hummel wanted to be.<p>

The Blackness was, in essence, very dark. Its name was cliche, but what else would you call something like this? In some hospital on some coast or country he'd never been to, there might have been a more scientific term for the illness, but that name was no more accurate than what it was called on the streets. No one suspected it was anything more than a migraine until the first person dropped.

Now it was hitting Kurt in waves. They'd just barely escaped. Their brushes with the authorities were getting closer and closer, and this one was a single turned corner away from having to run even harder, even faster. While Blaine might have managed sprinting at that point, he couldn't. Only when Kurt stopped cold in his tracks and pawed for Blaine's arm did the other boy realize something was wrong.

"It's okay," Blaine whispered to him as his body trembled. Muscles twitched and jerked. Fingers that were balled into fists spread and folded inward again, blunt nails digging into his soft palms. His shoulder jammed into Blaine's sternum, causing him to gasp and nearly let go, but his arms just wrapped around Kurt tighter. "Just relax. Quinn said you just have to ride it out. You'll be okay. We're okay."

Kurt wanted to tell him that relaxing was easier said than done, but he couldn't speak. His tongue felt three times its usual size, and his head was a spinning amalgamation of colors he couldn't have named even if he tried.

This didn't happen often. This was the first time since they'd left the compound, but not the first time Blaine watched as one of the Testers crumbled. He saw grown men who were no more than huge masses of muscle fall to their knees or just collapse. He saw women of thirty or more crying like little girls and clutching their heads. They were miserable when they weren't on the top of the food chain, and for the longest time, Blaine was ecstatic that he was lucky enough to not be a part of the program.

There were deaths every now and then. Accidents happened. Someone would lash out in anger and throw one of their peers against the wall. Beneath the soft, organic cushioning that padded the exercise and practice chambers was nothing but metal. If it wasn't the accidents, the Blackness was another suspect. All it took was falling unconscious in the exact wrong spot, and they were dead. Sometimes they just disappeared.

Kurt had almost disappeared.

One of the scientists working with the Testers - a young, blonde woman named Quinn - managed to divert the paperwork that would send the telekinetic towards termination. There was only so much the project's scientists could do. When the symptoms became too strong, when they were almost crippling, terminating the Tester was often the quickest, easiest way out. It also saved them from the collateral damage of when he did finally snap.

As anyone who came into contact with Kurt would have, Quinn grew attached. She liked talking to him. She enjoyed watching him as his powers ballooned past expectations. And she was there when his body started rejecting the changes, when everything was too much and it was like his brain was trying to tear itself to shreds.

Much like it was doing now. When they were just running, the symptoms were mild. Headaches unfurled at the backs of his eyes and nausea rolled through his stomach, giving him chills that caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. But this was so much worse.

Today, they'd learned that the larger of the two men following them was a Tester. His ability was physical, which was the first clue. Testers' abilities branched out farther than the ones the Innates possessed. He was stronger and more resilient than even Kurt. And when Kurt curled his fingers in the air with the fire escape in his sights, nearly tearing it off of the building as he forced it down upon the man, it only made him stronger.

That was when they knew they had to run, and after tossing pieces of broken metal railing at the smaller, more agile of the two following them, he began to feel the tremors.

Everything was burning now. Minutes after Kurt pulled Blaine down on the ground beside him, every muscle in his body felt like it was on fire. While this was a sign that the Blackness was ebbing, the pain was almost impossible to fight through. He felt like he was drowning, like he was being pulled into the cement only to have the heaviness of it crush him.

Gasping, Kurt's face fell into the curve of Blaine's shoulder, jaw hanging loose enough to let a broken whimper escape. No matter how many times he told himself it would be over soon, whatever lay in the future didn't lessen what was currently happening to his body. He would just have to wait. Wait and wait until he could stand up again, when his muscles weren't cramping and when his head didn't feel as if it was splitting down between his brows. And even when the Blackness _was_ gone, nothing was ever permanent. This pain would be back the moment he pushed himself too hard.

He could hear Blaine murmuring, but the sound was too faint. He could also feel the barest hint of a tender touch on his elbow, but the pressure wasn't enough to be comforting.

Kurt wasn't sure how long he sat there with his face buried in the synthetic fabric of Blaine's top, but the burning lessened and the tension that wrapped every muscle began to relax. After taking a deep, but shaken breath and opening his eyes, he pulled himself up. He was trembling; his even paler than usual complexion marred with splotches of bright red and a sheen of sweat.

While Blaine's face reflected obvious tones of relief and lingering concern, the light in Kurt's blue eyes was one of sharp paranoia. "We ha-ave to _go_," he muttered. He fumbled with his words, pressing his swollen lips together in a thin line of frustration as he struggled to stand only to have Blaine hold him in place. "Let go." There was a note of pleading in his voice. "They'll catch up. We have to get out - get out of here."

"And go where?" Blaine's thick brows flattened, a wrinkle forming between them. His hypothetical question was soft, but firm, much like the hold he had on Kurt. "Don't you think I would know if we were going to get caught?"

"I _think_ you couldn't see your hand if you held it out too far in front of your face."

Kurt's quick retort had Blaine blinking in surprise, but even as he recovered from the shock of having that very hand bitten when he reached out, he didn't let go. "Are you always like this? After...?"

The brunette scoffed, hips and shoulders wriggling in an attempt to get free. When he finally managed it, his back hit the slick metallic wall of the building beside him, and he let out a low-pitched whine. "It depends," Kurt replied with a huff, drawing his legs up closer to his chest. He knew if he tried to stand up right then, he'd only fall back down. The last thing he needed right then was to have Blaine see him fail at something so basic. He could only take so much humiliation in one day, and he'd already spent a solid fifteen minutes clutching to him like a scared kid.

Blaine sat back on his feet, the soft soles of his shoes pressing up into the backs of his thighs. "I just - I _know_ I'm not as good at this as I should be, but I'm trying. Quinn wouldn't have sent me with you if she didn't think I could handle what's happening."

"Or maybe she thought you'd be the last one they'd care enough to look for." Biting on his bottom lip, Kurt rested his chin on his knee, his mouth resting against his forearm. He was being insensitive, and he knew it. But he didn't need this. He didn't need Blaine's _sympathy_ or his _understanding_. What he needed was to either disappear or convince the goons following them that he wouldn't cause any trouble.

Blaine's eyes fell to his hands, watching his fingers as they laced and unlaced. The pads of them brushed against his pants, thumbs curling around each other. "That's not true," he said, voice raising slightly despite the reserved inward slouch of his shoulders. "My parents would be concerned. My father's a benefactor for the program; Quinn's at risk of losing her job for this."

"Great," Kurt interrupted with a whisper. "I doubt her _job_ is the only thing she'll be losing in that case."

The look on Blaine's face was an almost feral kind of innocence when he jerked his chin up to look into Kurt's eyes. "Don't say that." There was no denying the boy's suddenly authoritative tone, and Kurt shrugged, looking down the alleyway instead. "She did this for **you**. The least you could do is be thankful for that."

"Iam thankful," Kurt pressed. He could feel a warmth flooding up the back of his neck, skin flushing darker in both anger and frustration. How could one person be so intelligent yet so emotionally stupid? "It's just difficult to put on a happy face when we're being chased by a behemoth and his puppeteer, okay? I can barely access my ability without _that_ happening, and you're less than useless when it comes to an actual fight. Excuse me if I panic."

"We're _both_ useless, Kurt, but we have our strengths." Blaine smoothed his palms over his thighs, tracing the line of Kurt's sight down the alleyway. He'd always heard that it's easier to get lost in a city than in the middle of nowhere. Those were Quinn's instructions. Take Kurt to New York City and wait until she could figure out how to help him. She said she was close to a breakthrough, but she told him not to wait around until she hit it for fear of how long it might take in the same breath. They were meant to hide and hide well, survive as best they could without drawing attention to themselves, and wait it out.

Blaine had access to a personal account, and he withdrew the largest amount he could before displacing it into a separate account Quinn had one of her close friends set up. With that money, he and Kurt could survive for months. They just had to be careful.

"I can see enough to know where to go. That can be helpful if we run into them again," he continued, reaching out to rest a hand on Kurt's forearm. "And as long as you don't do too much, you're... _really_ strong."

"This wouldn't happen if I could sleep," Kurt admitted with a wet sigh, lifting his forearm off of his knees and nudging Blaine's hand away to scrub his palm over his face. "It gets worse when I'm tired. I've been on medication for my headaches for the past few weeks, but I can't rely on that now. So I haven't been taking them. I'll run out, and then they'll be even worse." Swallowing thickly, he let his arm fall again, looking at Blaine with a frown. "Can we just... find somewhere? To sleep? There's got to be somewhere that won't bother taking our names."

Blaine pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth for a moment before nodding. "We should stick to the sidewalks. There might be somewhere downtown... shady enough to take cash without an identification bracelet."

"Fantastic," Kurt said as he turned over onto his knees and stood. He ground his teeth together at the sharp pains that sparked through his muscles at the sudden movement. Stretching his arms above his head, he rolled onto the balls of his feet and slammed his eyes shut as his body forced itself to work through the increasing soreness. It would be worse if he stayed still. "We get this far only to be robbed and murdered in downtown Brooklyn."

"It was only a suggestion."

"And I was only working out my annoyance at my unfortunate situation through self-deprecating humor," Kurt told him, rolling his head to the side to watch him stand. "Get used to it. It's one of my many attractive features along with crippling headaches and the ability to crush things with my brain." Blaine's narrowed eyes only told him that he didn't fully understand if he was still joking or not. Sighing again, Kurt reached over and nudged his forearm, head tilting in the direction of the sidewalk. "Let's find this seedy hotel, shall we? If we're going to run into _those two_ again, I really need to get some rest."

They left as quickly as their feet could take them, merging into the crowd without any trouble, which was the reaction the two runaways had received on a wide scale. Ever since stepping off of the train, they'd been moving at a quick pace for no foreseen reason. Blaine reached out now and again, turning them away from the authorities while they were blocks away, and they were so very careful.

But the truth of the matter was that not a single policeman in the entire city was looking for them. Their names weren't flagged. No one around them cared save for the two men on their tail, the scientists who'd poured so much time and effort into their training, and the project head.

To a little over three dozen people, their return meant everything. To millions, they were nothing but two young men.

No one knew their face. No one knew that they were nothing but lost experiments that were to be returned. And no one knew that they were being hunted. Quietly.


	2. Chapter II : Naive

**A/N: **I just wanted to thank you guys who reviewed, fav'd, and put this story on alert! It means a lot to me that you're enjoying the story so far, and reviews really give me that nudge of encouragement that comes in handy. (Also, as a note for its not bacon: their uniforms are very streamlined black shirts and pants, heavy fabric, with v-necks and long sleeves. :))

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><p>There was nothing on the news.<p>

No all-points bulletin. No missing persons report. No unflattering picture flashed on the screen. Even the ticker at the bottom of the screen didn't give their names.

Blaine pulled his bare feet onto the couch and held his thighs against his chest. He didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, there were very few people in New York City who knew who they were. That would make hiding easier, make waiting easier. But on the other hand, not running was unsettling. They were like sheep who tore off from the flock, paranoid and afraid and waiting for someone to swoop in and bring them back, but they also wouldn't stop running. They couldn't stop running. If they stopped, getting caught would only be easier, and if they were caught, Kurt would die.

He was sleeping now. Curled up on the bed in the not-so-spacious one bedroom they were able to rent for a few days, he looked safe. Or, at least, he looked just internal enough to give the impression that he felt such a way. There were no shifty eyes, no murmurs about how Blaine should only let him sleep for an hour or two. Just softened features and hands curled into the pillows beneath his head.

The volume on the television was turned down so low Blaine could hear Kurt snoring quietly in the next room. Even if Kurt was a year or two older than him, he still felt compelled to stay awake in case anything happened. Every time he began to drift off, he couldn't shake the recent memory of Quinn pulling him aside in the dormitories and making him _swear_ that Kurt would be okay.

Blaine still didn't understand why this was necessary - what made Kurt so important? He was just like any of the other Testers. They pushed and pushed and watched as his ability took over his body. Once full assimilation was achieved, he was put into training, just like all the other Testers. He was taught how to control his new power, just like all the other Testers. They were all put on special diets, all put on a very specific cocktail of pills, and they were all taken care of. There was nothing inhumane about the project.

That was what Blaine had been taught from _birth_.

Leaning over to rest his head on the arm of the sofa, he stretched out as best he could and looked back to the television. He didn't understand most things. He knew this was part of the reason why Kurt got so frustrated with him, but there was a difference between being stupid and being confused. He hadn't been in New York for years. News didn't filter through the compound very often. Everything was focused and compact. They knew who the president was and the state of their country, but very little else. Relying on outside information would only hinder their focus, and focus was important for the Innates.

Blaine scrubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't remember much about New York. He'd grown up in this city for the most part. Seven and a half years came and went on the streets of the Upper East Side, but it was a stranger now. He was nineteen. Technology came and went at the speed of light, and while the equipment at the compound was always top notch, everything about this place felt _off_.

Shuffling deeper into the single cushion that ran the length of the couch, he sighed. Kurt had been asleep for barely an hour, and they were both well aware of how dangerous sleep deprivation would be for him. So Blaine let him sleep. He let him sleep and stared at the pale white ceiling and listened to the quiet hum of the voices on the television. Each alternating screen cast a different glow around the sparsely furnished room, and the shifting colors drew Blaine's lids downward.

In the darkness behind his eyelid, Blaine could feel his breath slow. He could sense Kurt's presence. And he _knew_ the door was locked. As long as no one broke in, they would be okay.

That was the thought he repeated to himself, and that was the thought that allowed him to sleep.

A few hours later, Blaine was torn from the peaceful darkness of his sleep to a crash. He jerked awake with a surge of adrenaline that numbed the pang from the crick in his neck. He knew that sound. That was the sound of shattered glass. "Kurt?" he called out before scrambling to his feet, narrowly avoiding the coffee table as he rushed in the direction of the room. "Kurt, is everything -?"

He stopped cold when he saw the table previously positioned at the side of the bed lying on the ground. The glass cover was broken into a dozen pieces and scattered across the floor, and one of its four legs was barely more than splinters. Blaine's eyes snapped to Kurt only to see him staring at the mess with wide eyes, his face pale and hands curled into fists atop the comforter.

"I'm... fine," Kurt told him before flopping back onto the pillows and rubbing at his eyes. He could feel Blaine's hesitation as well as the question he was no doubt about to pose. "And, no, I don't have nightmares, so don't ask."

"What happened?"

Letting his hands drop to his stomach, Kurt glanced down to where Blaine was standing at the foot of the bed. "Not taking the dampeners before bed anymore," he explained, pulling himself up into a half-seated position. "That, no sleep, stress - my body is a nightmare right now. I don't want to know what it's going to feel like when I stand up."

Blaine nodded. Luckily enough, the only problems the Innates faced on a nightly basis was a penchant for nightmares. Some saw the future, others the past. Some felt and manipulated emotions of others. They weren't a danger to anyone when at rest, but they often had very vivid, sometimes violent dreams.

Moving over to the bed, he felt himself sink down onto the mattress, eyes glued to the mess on the floor. The glass was too clouded to reflect the lights from outside, but shadows scored the floor all the same.

"I can pay for it later," he said quietly, twisting his head just enough to look at Kurt over his shoulder. "Do you want to sleep more?"

Wetting his lips, Kurt shook his head. "I've slept enough. What about you? Did I wake you up?" When Blaine shook his head, Kurt rolled his eyes. As of yet, the other boy hadn't really made it a point to show him why Quinn had assigned him as a protector of sorts. He had doormat written all over him. If anything, Kurt was the one who'd end up protecting him out in this big, bad world. "Of course I did. You look exhausted."

"I'm okay. Promise."

"Mm, fine, whatever." Guiding himself back down onto the pillows, Kurt crossed his ankles, narrowly avoiding nudging Blaine's thigh with his foot. "So if you don't have nightmares..."

"No," Blaine interrupted before Kurt was able to on, "I have nightmares. I just don't have them all of the time."

"So if you don't have _many_ nightmares," Kurt continued, an edge sharpened by exhaustion and annoyance to his words, "Why did Quinn go to you? They need stable Innates right now."

Passing his tongue over his bottom lip, Blaine's shoulders bounced in a shrug. "They need stable, _strong_ Innates for their testing. They're doing it to help people like you. Maybe she chose me to help you because I couldn't help anyone when I was there, and she knew that I wanted to."

"Makes sense. I don't see why you're still so adamant about helping them, though."

When Blaine turned on the bed, Kurt's eyes widened a shade at the sudden offense on the boy's face. They stared at each other for a long moment in silence. He could see Blaine's mouth moving, opening and closing as if he couldn't find the right words, no matter how far he reached for them. "I wouldn't expect you to understand," he finally managed.

From anyone else, those words would have sounded condescending. Kurt would have thrown out a biting retort and called it a day, but there was something genuinely hurt in Blaine's tone that told him that there really must be something about him that he didn't comprehend.

Pulling himself up into a seated position, Kurt gnawed at the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering. The pull and tug of his muscles hurt in ways that nearly blinded him. "Make me understand, then."

"I don't-" Blaine swallowed thickly and rose from the bed, crossing his arms as he focused on the floor beneath his feet and not the boy staring up at him. "It's not something I can just _expose. _With everything that's happening, I don't know what to think. But I know that what's happening in the compound isn't bad. They make mistakes, but what works on the first try? They want to help."

Kurt's brows furrowed, and his head tilted a little to the side. "You can't be that naive." Blaine didn't look at him. "They're not helping _us_. The Testers? We're guinea pigs. There is ahuge difference between helping people who are born one way and injecting others and tossing them out with the trash when it doesn't go as they planned."

"You volunteered for this," Blaine countered weakly, his own brows slanted upwards and his expression slack and pleading. "It's not right what they almost did to you, but - but they're not all bad."

"How long were you there?"

Blaine's mouth fell open. "Wha - what?"

"How long were you there?"

There was an accusation in Kurt's words and in the sudden tightness of his form, coiled as if he'd lash out in an attempt to prove that he was right the moment Blaine answered him. "Eleven years."

"Making you..." A brief pause for mental arithmetic. "Eight when you went to the compound."

"Yes. I was eight."

Kurt nodded, hand smoothing over the thick black fabric of his shirt. "So you were a little kid when you hit your catalyst. Your parents enrolled you in the program. You learned about American and World history, biology, math, English. Sports and a few foreign languages. You got your tri-weekly check-up like clockwork until you started your training at..."

"Thirteen."

"Six years ago."

"Yes," Blaine told him, arms folding even tighter together over his chest, "Six years ago. I've been in training for six years, and I've never been able to see farther than an hour ahead. I know a guy two years younger than me who can see into next week. I've been a constant disappointment to my instructors, my father, and myself. But I'm not bitter. What you might consider blind faith, I call optimism."

The brunette shook his head. "Blind faith, optimism - it doesn't matter. I'm a _realist_. Putting someone who knows the project head stuck a big, fat _terminate_ stamp on my file and still thinks they're trying to do the right thing is supposed to help me how?"

How was Blaine expected to answer that question? How should he know what Quinn wanted from him? She'd picked him up and dropped him in this situation, and she never asked him whether or not he wanted to be a part of it. Of course, had she asked, he would have agreed to helping her, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Kurt's world was full of _his_ feelings and _his_ emotions, crowding the room around them until Blaine's feelings were pushed out of the door.

He'd lost just as much.

And now they were after him, too.

"Do you think you would do better on your own?"

Blaine's question hit the silence that hung thick and solid in the air. But when Kurt's wide blue eyes searched for his, he didn't take a step back. He didn't stand down. He looked right back at him.

"_No_, Blaine. I don't think I would do better on my own." Kurt paused, his upper lip twitching. "What kind of question is that? Did you miss what happened today? Because as far as I remember, you were there."

"Yeah, I was there. I helped you through it, and now it seems like you'd rather leave me behind."

"I-"

Kurt's jaw worked, but he couldn't find his words. His fingers curled around each other, some lacing through the others, and he gaped up at the boy standing in front of him. In a way, he hated Blaine for what he'd seen just a few hours prior. But he knew he would have been dragged back to the compound if not for Blaine pulling him into that alleyway. "I would rather not be in this situation at all," Kurt said finally, side-stepping his desire to apologize for his earlier comments. He had too much pride for that. "But I am, and you're... helping."

"Was that really so difficult?"

"You're pushing it, Blaine."

Nodding to himself, Blaine let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back. He gestured vaguely towards the broken end table. "I'll clean that up in a few hours," he murmured, glancing back at Kurt before turning to leave the room. "Get some more sleep. We have to find something to eat in the morning."

"I said I wasn't -"

Blaine paused in the doorway.

"Ugh," Kurt groaned, lying back down against the pillows, "Fine."

This wasn't the end of the discussion. Both of them knew that. Neither of them could be pressed to continue arguing back and forth when they didn't even know where they stood. Or, at least, when Kurt wasn't entirely aware of Blaine's angle. He was just a boy - a boy who'd been raised thinking one way. He didn't want to throw out the word _indoctrinated_ quite yet, but he didn't have the advantage of knowing what life was like as an adult outside of the compound. All he knew was a life of privilege with a side of fantasy, even if it was tempered with disappointment as he claimed.

Turning onto his side, Kurt hooked an arm under the pillow and shut his eyes. It was difficult to fall asleep with his thoughts buzzing and churning like they were, but he couldn't help himself.

What else would someone do if they didn't know what tomorrow was going to hold other than lie awake and wonder?

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><p>"I don't appreciate being forced to work with such... incredible limitations."<p>

Dave glanced up from the newspaper in his lap. The publication itself was still printed out of sentimentality, but he preferred it to the tiny screens everyone else favored. Flicking his tongue out over his lips, his shoulders rolled back in the heavy fabric of his shirt. "Byron said we're supposed to bring them back without laying a finger on them."

"That would be difficult, all things considered," Jesse countered smoothly, gloved index finger sliding over the outer corner of their table. "And if he expected us to play by the rules, he wouldn't have given me you, would he? Brute force doesn't mesh well with a peaceful solution."

"Maybe he just wanted me around in case you fucked up."

Jesse's eyes shot to Dave's face only to see the Tester staring at the news with avid curiosity. "I don't fuck up, Karofsky," he ground out. Leaning closer to Dave, his arms folded on the table, his expression was menacing. It didn't fit his barely aged, almost cherubic features. "I've been with Byron for almost twenty years. There's nothing in my M.O. that constitutes failure. And there never will be. We're following a crippled Tester and a boy whose abilities never fully developed."

"In New York City," Dave continued for him without looking up from words he wasn't even reading. Ever since that afternoon, Jesse had been on his ass for letting them get away. The hearty helping of blame he didn't even deserve was pissing him off. "With a population of how many millions? If Byron wants to keep everyone in the dark about people like me and Hummel, we can't just go after 'em."

When Jesse didn't immediately counter with something snide, Dave looked up from the newspaper. The older man was working his jaw, fingers clenching and relaxing in the flexible synthetic leather of his gloves. His weaknesses were way too easy to pick on.

Jesse St. James was, without a doubt, the perfect Innate for this job. His ability was easily controlled by the covering of his fingertips, and he could even delay his attachment to the power if he concentrated hard enough. And when it was time to work, he didn't let anything stand in his way. He knew how important his ability was to his work, and he knew exactly how to use it in order to remain close on the tail of whoever he was assigned to chase down.

"You're right, of course," he replied with an air of finality as he sunk back into the chair. "My seniority when it comes to these matters is clearly trumped by your extensive field training." Jesse paused, his lips falling open in a delicate oval. "Oh. Wait."

Dave's hazel eyes narrowed in his direction. "No wonder your partners bail so quickly. You're an asshole."

"They don't bail," Jesse murmured, pressing his palms against the table and rising from his seat. Moving over to the one-way mirror on the other side of the room, he folded his arms over his chest. There was an Innate in the room directly in front of him, sitting quietly like they'd been ordered, though they didn't seem too pleased at this new development. After spending the better part of three hours in that blisteringly bright room, alone, they had more than enough time to consider the offer.

Maybe they would accept. Maybe they wouldn't. Either way, they weren't actually being given a choice. The illusion of choice went much farther than a barely concealed threat. If the illusion of choice failed to entice them, Jesse would offer them one better - a promise Byron may or may not fulfill.

No one ever knew the full hand. That was the most important part.

Lifting a hand, Jesse rubbed his palm over his clean shaven cheek, a tiny smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he turned around to look back at Dave. "Most of them just can't handle the pressure."


End file.
